The End?
by CaptainOzone
Summary: Because the story never really ends when the author writes "The End," does it? All the unanswered questions, all the scenes yet to be written…A collection of oneshots and drabbles all connected to my Prophesized series. #1) Kay returns to Camelot for the first time since lopping off his hand. #2) Sometimes, strange things happen…and doors gain personalities.
1. A Clumsy, One-Handed Oaf

Disclaimer: IDOM

AN: Since it appears Oz has no understanding of the words "The End," I decided to start a collection of drabbles and oneshots all connected to or set in the Prophesized universe! How long did I last before I caved and wrote more? A few days? LOL! This one _poured _out of me, so understandably, it's not the best. I'll be updating whenever inspiration hits. :)_  
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Title: **A Clumsy, One-Handed Oaf**

Characters/Pairings: Kay, some more OCs, Gwaine

Ratings/Warnings: Set after HG

Summary: This is Kay's first visit back to Camelot after he lopped off his hand

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Maybe he should have listened to Lot.

Of course, his cousin would never, _ever _hear that _ever _come from his own lips, but Kay couldn't help but think it now, miles away from Escetia, where that grim king would have probably been able to read his mind anyway. The copper-haired man could almost _feel _the imaginary smugness from here.

_Damn him_, Kay cursed as the horse's reins tangled about his hand.

He had very nearly been unseated when his horse crossed that creek he had always enjoyed leaping over in his youth. It had always been a risky jump, but the risk had always thrilled him. In fact, it was so much fun that it had become second nature to take whatever detour he could when returning to Camelot just so that he could make that leap.

'Course, he had forgotten that he needed two hands on the reins or saddle in order to make it successfully without toppling over or losing control of the horse.

He should be grateful that his mare didn't lame herself when she half-jumped half-stumbled through the water instead of bounding gracefully over. He should be grateful that he didn't fall off, but yet here he sat, cursing his cousin, who had seemed to think it too early for him to go on such a long ride while he was still getting used to handling a horse one-handed, and bemoaning the lost chance to make the leap.

He certainly had his priorities straight.

Giving up on the hopelessly tangled reins and deciding to hold the knot as it was, he looked back over his shoulder at the receding creek. He, Leon, and Arthur had been making that leap as long as he could remember…

He didn't realize that he'd unconsciously reached to brush at the hilt of the sword on his hip—a gesture all knights seemed to pick up at one point or another—until his stump bumped it, and he whirled back around, releasing a frustrated sigh.

_And there's yet _another_ thing_…

_ No._

He slammed down the wave of self-pity threatening to rise up over him. No, he wouldn't allow himself to feel any self-pity. He refused to allow himself to whine. He'd do as he had done ever since waking up in Nellie's chambers. He would remember what he had done, why he had done it, and he would know that he did not, for a single _moment, _regret it.

Sure, he didn't like that the servants had to cut his meat for him now. He didn't like that he needed help dressing himself. He didn't like that he couldn't practice his dagger-play while simultaneously training with the sword. He most _certainly _didn't like all the stories circulating about how he had lost the hand nor did he like all the whispers and pitying looks that followed him around Livandir, and he downright _hated_ seeing Lot have to bite his tongue on his behalf whenever word of a new rumor reached the king's ears.

Despite all that he didn't like, he'd _never _regret.

That meant no self-pity. That meant no whining. That meant throwing everything he had into adapting to life without his left hand. So that was what he did. He might have bitten off more than he could chew at multiple points, which was definitely why Lot was wary to let him journey to Camelot so soon on his own, but he _never_ backed down from a challenge.

More than that, though, he wanted things to return to _normal. _That was why Kay most certainly _did _disobey his cousin and Nellie every chance he got and set off to Camelot without much more than a smile and a hasty "see you in a few weeks!" Besides, he missed the city, and the news he received from rumors and Merlin's letters was not enough. He wanted to _see_ Camelot. He wanted to see his friends, too, and he wanted to find his _place_. Between Lot and Arthur, Escetia and Camelot, between his loyalties, his sacrifices, and his heart…well, his sense of where he belonged was rather distorted and fuzzy.

That thought alone made the letter from Lot—for the king had seemed to _know _that he'd be making an escape to Camelot before long and had slipped it into the saddlebag before he'd gone—seemingly burn his leg through flaps of leather.

Beyond his initial discovery of it in his bags, he hadn't looked at it, which was a massive display of self-control on his part. It was addressed to King Arthur, so it could have easily been a letter detailing the place at which they would reconvene to discuss the treaty they hadn't finished signing weeks ago.

Then again, Lot had mentioned his place in both kingdoms often enough over the past few weeks, so it could have easily been something about him too. That niggling suspicion that the letter _did _have something to do with him was nearly unbearable.

He couldn't have been more grateful when he saw the white towers of Camelot peeking just over the treetops, and the letter was forgotten in favor of wanting nothing more than to _get there_. He gripped the knotted reins and grinned, urging his horse into a gallop and whooping just because he could.

Whatever lesson he learned from trying to leap the creek obviously didn't stick in his mind, but thankfully, Kay and his mare trotted into the main courtyard quite uninjured and still exhilarated from their wild dash to the gates. Kay dismounted, handed over his tangled reins to a disgruntled stable boy, and ignored all stares.

What did it matter that he had one hand anyway? What did it matter at all what they might have heard or thought about it?

He was _home_. That was all that mattered right now.

His teal eyes were alight as they danced across the crowded courtyard, and it seemed that all the memories of the place came rushing to him all at once. Over there, he and Arthur had discussed sneaking down to visit the dragon, and over there, he remembered calling the prince "Wart" for the first time after getting his tooth pulled. And over _there_ was where he had frequently gotten caught trying to climb the walls and sneak into the vents just above the kitchens. He had been in endless amounts of trouble for doing that. Of course, that hadn't stopped him from trying again and again, especially on Tuesdays. Tuesdays were when Cook had fresh dumplings, breads, and pies out. Tuesdays were baking days, and on Tuesdays, the aroma seemed to permeate _everything_.

_Mmmmm_. Today was Tuesday.

He didn't realize he'd begun to follow his nose until he was right outside the backdoor to the kitchens. A crabby kitchen boy, holding a pail of slop meant for the pigs, chose at that very moment to fling the door open, and as the door collided with Kay's forehead, the boy tumbled out, falling to the ground, sending the pail flying, and sloshing the slop everywhere.

Kay was knocked sideways when the boy fell onto him, and once his feet left the ground, he instinctively tried to catch himself on his hands.

Big mistake.

His good hand didn't catch half as much of the impact as his stump did, and though it was fully and perfectly healed thanks to Merlin and Nellie, it was sensitive as all hell whenever pressure was applied. He'd say that his body weight was _quite _a bit of pressure. It took all of his willpower to withhold his scream, and he immediately rolled off of it, pulling his stunted arm to his chest with a sharp inhale. Gunky slop dripped from his hair and ran down his face, but he paid that no mind and closed his eyes, forcing the dizzying nausea away.

Belatedly, the kitchen boy, who had been sitting stupidly in the slop, clambered to his feet. He looked mighty angry—his face had turned a very interesting shade of red—and if his wits weren't so dulled by pain, he might have said something amusing about it. Instead, he blinked as the boy shouted, "Oi! Watch where yer—"

A sharp yelp cut him off, and Kay swiveled his head around to find that a woman had, at some point during his spectacular fall, materialized behind him and had socked the boy in the ear. He rubbed at his ear, grumbling and glaring at the woman.

_She is quite pretty_, Kay decided as he sat dumbly in the pool of slop. _I probably should get up._

"I didn't get you that job so that you could go on being rude to people, Ofydd," she was saying curtly, her hazel eyes unyielding.

"I di'n't want the job in tha firs' place, El!" the child pouted.

The woman looked unimpressed. "Too bad. We were very lucky that the queen and king pardoned us and allowed us a chance here. We must thank Merlin, too, for all that he's done for us."

"I know, but…"

"I know. Your time will come. In the meantime, work hard and start appreciating what you have. New life, new responsibilities, Ofy." The hard mask on her face dissipated, and her lips twitched into a smile. "You can't mooch off of me forever, you know," she teased, reaching over to ruffle his shaggy blond hair.

The boy looked horrified and danced out of her reach. "Ge'off!"

Amused, the woman let him go. "Scamper off now. I'll see you tonight for supper." Ofydd gave her a smile and was about to do just that when she stopped him yet again. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold up. Forgetting something? You should clean up this mess and apologize to this man."

Kay remembered his voice then, and ignoring his throbbing stump and now struggling to keep bubbling hilarity at bay, he slowly got to his feet and said, "No, no, it's fine. It was my fau—lt."

He faltered when he saw the boy's eyes glow gold. At his command, the pail flipped right-side-up, and slop collected into a single pool before neatly streaming into the pail once again. The boy looked to the woman for approval, and when she smiled, her entire face softening in her pride, he beamed, picked up the pail, muttered a short apology to Kay, and dashed away.

"I'm sorry about my little brother," she said, watching him go. "He's a brat sometimes, but he's all I have." When she turned back to him, he noticed that her freckled nose had been broken. Twice, at least. "I would exchange pleasantries with you—" it sounded as though she would most certainly _not _exchange anything of the sort if she had anything to say about it "—but I have to track someone down. I hope you're alright?"

_She hadn't even once looked at the stump_, he couldn't help but notice. "Yeah," he said.

Her hazel eyes flashed across his face, and she wrinkled her nose. Sarcastically, she commented, "You don't look alright, or smell alright, but that could be you're covered in scraps meant for pigs."

Kay snorted. "Yes, I do think I have a bit of cleaning up to do before I see Art—the king," he corrected awkwardly, forgetting that he was not in the presence of a close friend.

"The _king_?" the woman repeated in surprise. "Just who do you think you are?"

Her abrasive bluntness took him aback, and he blinked rapidly. "Um…Kay? Sir Kay?" He wasn't entirely sure if his title was still that of a knight, but he figured he might as well say it anyway. "And you are?"

"Elaine. Captain of the Queen's Guard."

"Oh," Kay said slowly. "I didn't realize Gwen had a guard."

"And I didn't realize you were the one I was supposed to track down. Funny how things turn out."

She didn't wait for him, and he had to trot to catch up with her. Despite the embarrassing situation he found himself in and his spinning head, his grin had returned at the prospect of returning to the castle. "They're expecting me, then?"

Shrugging her shoulders, she said simply, "Nothing gets past Merlin."

Kay chuckled. "No, it doesn't."

"He notified the king and queen and asked that I retrieve you," she further explained. "He supervises us now—all of the sorcerers that joined Camelot's army."

"That's _brilliant!_" the knight exclaimed. He didn't imagine Merlin was comfortable with the idea of command, but Kay was sure he would come to adapt to the change and excel, especially when he and Arthur combined their skills and came up with new training regimes and exercises to do with both magicians and soldiers.

He was about to ask Elaine a question about her position, about how it was she came into service, but his sopping trousers suddenly caught on the edge of a stair-step, nearly sending him sprawling. He thrust his handless arm out just in time to brace himself, and just so happened to use Elaine's petite shoulders to do so.

Embarrassed and frustrated, he winced, drew away, and mumbled, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean—I…know that…"

_I know that it makes people uncomfortable…_

To his surprise, she did not look uncomfortable in the slightest. She had, in fact, started to laugh. "You know, I have heard a lot about you, but you're not quite what I expected, Sir Kay."

He couldn't tell if that was a bad thing or a good thing in her eyes, so he shrugged indifferently as he stepped under the archway and into the castle. "You know what they say about assumptions."

She ignored his comment and mused, "At least one thing they say is true."

"And what is that?" Kay asked, his humor self-deprecating. "That I'm a clumsy, one-handed oaf?"

"Well, you are a bit of a clumsy, one-handed oaf," she admitted, eyes sparkling mischievously, "but that's not—"

"You can say that again," someone said. "What the hell happened to you, mate?"

"Elaine's brother happened," Kay answered, turning to face their eavesdropper. "Nice to see you too, Gwaine."

"Hello!"

"We were talking, Gwaine," Elaine snapped. "Didn't your mother teach you not to interrupt adults when they were talking? Go take your bad manners elsewhere."

"You wound me, Elaine."

"Get over it."

The knight grinned at them. "Would it make you feel better if I apologized for interrupting?"

"Fine."

"Excellent!" Gwaine said. "Well, I _was _going to join you two on the walk to the Great Hall, but it seems that Kay needs to freshen up after his swim! Tell the others we'll be along shortly, eh?"

Before Kay could have any say in the matter or Elaine could so much as respond, Gwaine had dragged him away, chattering in his ear all the while, and it wasn't until Kay looked back over his shoulder at the blonde, who was sauntering confidently off in the opposite direction, that he realized he never got the chance to hear which of the stories about him was true.

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AN: Yup, the very _second _I put Elaine into the end of Heart of Gold, I shipped her with Kay. I regret nothing.


	2. Let's Play

AN: Well, I blame you guys. Because I had gotten a surprisingly large amount of feedback about Merlin's door…well, I thought I'd have some fun. Just a note that nothing in this drabble reflects my own opinion of the characters and is not meant to insult any particular group of people.

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Title: **Let's Play**  
Characters/Pairings: Merlin's enchanted talking door  
Ratings/Warnings: K+; set after HG; crack (read as: obnoxious)  
Summary: Sometimes, Merlin doesn't think things through…and strange things happen. Things like doors gaining personalities and having penchants for being disagreeable.

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The first human I "saw" was my creator.

What I saw didn't give me much hope for the rest of his kind. Nope, not with _that _unfortunate set of flapping flesh on either side of his head. Eyes—no,_ears_, the two-legged mammals call them?

Well, whatever they were called, they were silly things, and his were the silliest, I was quite convinced.

He spoke kindly to me, and I was rather pleased to have been given a task. I liked the idea of having something to do but sit there, and since he hadn't specified _how _he would have liked me to guard his rooms, I did have some great fun inventing creative ways to do so.

Well, at least I _did _until the curlicue girl with the ridiculous fishy-skin-metal-clothes came running up to me and began tugging on my handle in such a rude manner. I didn't understand what her problem was, and since I wasn't very happy with how she abused my handle, I told her so…and called her a hopeless, ugly wench while I was at it.

Ah, I recognized her when she looked up from my handle and blinked at me incredulously. She was the one that the bumbling, daisy-haired male liked so much, the one who (rather dumbly) decided to go to my creator for advice on something called "marriage."

Hm. She was not as pretty as I thought she'd be. After all the fuss she stirred up with that cheesy rose-giver and my creator, I expected more. After all, she didn't have the same stunning brass handle that I did. She just had those ugly fish scales. She didn't have the same thick, sturdy chestnut wood that I did. She just had that messy mop on her head.

Humans. Strange creatures.

It amused me when she cursed my creator under her breath after I made that comment. Quite amusing. When rage-fish-wench-woman stomped away, I decided that maybe I did like her.

She was not the last of my creator's friends I met. There was pretty boy and bulge man. There was hairy-drunkard-imp and the immortal one. There was the fire-head, too. I knew fire. Fire had charred and scarred me before. Many times throughout the years, in fact. I had endured, and I had been prepared for whatever heat he dared to use against me. It seemed that I had overestimated him, though—the soulless-limbless one.

When he bared his teeth at me for calling him that, I was not quite sure if it was a smile or a scowl. I had seen too much of both of these teeth-showing rituals to be sure. The children-male-men seemed quite fond of both, anyway. It was easy to get them confused.

Such a disappointment. I think I even sighed.

My creator had not been very pleased for my "tactlessness," though, and he thought he could _chastise _me for it.

_The gall of him! _I had to put up with his silliness, with his big ears, with his constant chattering and ridiculous companions, and I even held my tongue when his foolish "experiments" went awry and he ended up stuck or blue-skinned or in any other such hilarious, awkward, or embarrassing situation. I didn't chastise _him _when he put a gouge in the wall a little to close to my lovely hinges for comfort or when he leaned his bony arse against me after fleeing from his responsibilities in the court room!

"Sorry, Kay," that infuriating creator of mine said. "Just ignore it."

_Excuse_ me?!

I swung myself open and slammed back into my threshold with as much force as I could muster. The entire room shook with the sound of my rage. "You want to be that way, mangy magic man?" I asked him, causing him to splutter and the other to choke. "You want to play? Fine. Let's."

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AN: Stupid? Yes. Silly? Most certainly. Fun? Boy, was it! :D I doubt many people have tried to write from the POV of a sassy, vain door before, too, so I'm certainly feeling unique! LOL! Hope this made you at least chuckle. ;D

Oz out


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